“I can.” Julia squeezed lime into a silver shaker along with cranberry juice, Cointreau, and vodka. She shook it up and poured it into a martini glass. She placed a napkin on the bar and set the glass on top of it.
Lana’s long fingers and red nails wrapped around the glass’s stem, and she slowly raised the drink to her lips. “Very good.”
“With age comes experience.”
“I have plenty of experience, and I’m young.”
“I can see you know what you’re doing.”
“By the time I’m your age, I’ll be rich and living on a beach.”
“A solid plan. How’re you going to do it?”
“Benny is going to see how smart I am, and he’s going to put me to work.”
“Sounds like he’s lucky to have you.”
“He is.”
Benny’s office door opened, and he searched the bar until he saw Lana. He snapped his fingers, and she immediately set down the drink. Her smile widened, and she hurried toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He squeezed her bottom as he closed the door. There were other men also in his office. Julia wondered if the kid would see twenty-one, let alone thirty-two.
Julia ate as she walked from her vehicle the couple of blocks to the medical examiner’s office. By the time she arrived, Novak was already gowned up and Dr. Kincaid and Tessa were standing at the head of the gurney in front of the sheet-clad body.
The trio looked over at her. “Agent Vargas,” Dr. Kincaid said. “Welcome.”
“Am I late?” she asked, glancing at the clock.
“No. We’re a little early.”
“Good.”
Dr. Kincaid smiled and made some small talk, but Novak remained silent. He studied Julia, making no attempt to hide his concern. He was picking up somehow that it had been a rough night for her.
She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t aware of him.
The sex between them had been surprisingly great. She didn’t flinch, push him, or scream in fear, all the reasons she’d avoided intimacy since what had happened in Virginia Beach. He could make her feel like her old self. And when he was in her bed, she always slept soundly with no nightmares, at least so far.
But a few great turns in the sack didn’t mean they were close. The detective thought she was a badass, and she wanted to keep it that way. Allowing him to see her vulnerable was unacceptable.
She shrugged off her jacket and suited up. By the time she reached Novak’s side of the table, Tessa was making the Y incision.
Novak’s gaze might have been focused on the autopsy table, but she knew he was thinking of her. Call it a cop’s instincts, but she knew when people were paying too close attention.
The technician pulled away the sheet, revealing Lana’s naked body. Julia flinched and steeled herself against the image.
Lana’s head rested in a white plastic headrest that tipped her chin up and exposed her neck. Bleached blond hair flowed over the back of the table. Scrubbed clean of makeup, Lana looked older. The last year had aged her a decade. The ropes had been removed, but their ugly imprints on her chest, arms, legs, and of course neck remained.
Dr. Kincaid pulled the microphone closer to her lips and began. “Lana Ortega is an eighteen-year-old Hispanic female.”
Eighteen. So the kid had lied about her age. That would have put her at sixteen when they met. Damn it.
Dr. Kincaid began her exterior exam. “The technician photographed the victim’s bindings, and they have been sent to the state forensic lab.” The doctor cleared her throat. “The subject has four tattoos: a heart on her right ankle, MR encircled by a heart on her right arm, a key on the inside of her left wrist, and a star on the back of her neck at her hairline. No needle marks on her arms or between her fingers or toes. She does have several scars. Several old ones on the underside of her left wrist.”
“She told me she tried to kill herself when she was fourteen,” Julia said. “She never said why, only that she took a straight razor to her wrist.”
“You knew this woman?” Tessa asked.
“I met her when I worked undercover. Lana’s boyfriend and his boss were my targets, and in an effort to learn more about them, I befriended her.”
The doctor nodded. “There’s a scar on the victim’s cheek that was expertly closed with stitches. And there are small circular burn scars on her arms.”
“Cigarette burns?” Novak asked.
“Most likely,” Dr. Kincaid said. “Her teeth have veneers.”
“She told me Benny gave her the new teeth as well as breast implants.”
Dr. Kincaid frowned. “I’d say she’s at least fifteen pounds underweight, and her dry skin suggests she was vitamin-deficient.”
“She lived on cosmos and luncheon meat,” Julia said.
“How long did you work undercover?” Tessa asked.
Aware of Novak’s sharp gaze, she kept her focus on the doctor. “About three years. I had built a pretty good network in the underground beach community. When a task force was looking for someone to work in Benny’s bar, I was a natural choice.”
“I can’t imagine what that must have been like,” Dr. Kincaid said.
“It taught me to always think twice before I spoke,” she said, forcing a smile. “Until a couple of weeks ago, I was still circling the block until I made the final trek home.”
“Circling the block?” Dr. Kincaid asked.
“Hard to maintain a tail on someone if they take three or four right turns. Following anyone that closely will get you spotted.”
“Good to know,” Dr. Kincaid said.
“There are visible signs of bruising all over her body that match the ropes that bound her,” Dr. Kincaid said. “The bruising around her neck is particularly pronounced, and that is due to the ropes that were bound there. There’s also bruising on her wrists and ankles. Again, from ropes. And there’s a deep slice to her left Achilles tendon. A cut like that would have incapacitated her immediately.”
“In the original cases, the victims didn’t suffer any cuts,” Julia said.
“Maybe twenty-five years has slowed him down,” Novak said.
“Unless I see something during the autopsy or in the tox screens, my first guess is that she suffocated,” Dr. Kincaid said. “With her neck wrapped so tightly and her hands suspended, breathing would have become increasingly difficult.”
“How long did it take?” Novak asked.
“Hard to say exactly, but at least a couple of hours.”
Julia tried not to imagine the young woman’s last hours.